Trick or Treat
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: The Gotham Rogues' annual Halloween party receives an unusual visitor in the form of a child...and also something much more supernatural. Happy Halloween, everyone! :-)
1. Chapter 1

**Trick or Treat**

"You scared or what?"

"I ain't scared! I ain't scared of nothing!" snapped Tom Stoker, adjusting the mask on his Batman costume.

"So go do it," said his friend, dressed as Robin. They were standing in front of the gates to Arkham Asylum, and it was Halloween night. "Knock on the door and say trick or treat."

"They won't even have any candy in there," reasoned Tom. "It's like a hospital. Nobody gives sick people candy – it's not healthy."

"It's a hospital for crazy freaks and monsters," said his friend. "If they don't celebrate Halloween, no one should. And the worst the doctors can do is say no and slam the door in your face. You ain't scared of that, are ya?"

"I told you, I ain't scared of nothing!" repeated Tom, firmly.

"Then prove it," retorted his friend, folding his arms across his chest. "Go knock on the door."

"Don't do it, Tom," murmured another of his friends, a girl dressed as Batgirl. She gazed at him with pleading eyes. "You don't have to prove anything. Nobody thinks you're a coward."

"You don't, Amy, because you're in love with him," retorted his friend. "Bet you just wanna go somewhere where the two of you can smooch. Ok, Tom, don't do it – listen to your girlfriend."

"Cut it out, Danny," growled Tom. "She's not my girlfriend."

"No, but I'm the only one here talking any sense," snapped Amy. "You're both being a couple of stupid boys risking getting into trouble for no reason!"

"What kinda trouble could we get into?" demanded Danny. "Tom's just gonna go up there and knock on the door. They probably won't even answer – probably busy giving the Joker his medication."

"The rule with trick or treating is that if the lights are out, you're not supposed to knock," retorted Amy, matter-of-factly. "There's no lights on in there. So you shouldn't disturb the people working by knocking."

"Who do you think are the unlucky saps pulling the graveyard shift in there on Halloween?" asked Danny, whistling. "I reckon they could use some cheering up. C'mon, Tom, do it, or you're chicken."

"I'm not chicken!" snapped Tom.

"Tom, if you do it, you're an idiot," retorted Amy.

"Would you rather be chicken or an idiot?" asked Danny, smiling.

The lesser of two evils for Tom appeared to be being an idiot, for he pushed open the gates with an almighty screech, and slowly made his way up the steps. The huge, Victorian Gothic building loomed ahead of him, staring down at him and, to his imaginative mind stimulated by candy and adrenaline, frowning at him. The wind blew around him as he stood on the porch, seeming to whisper _Go away! Get out of here! You're not welcome!_

Tom gulped. There was no place scarier in all of Gotham City than Arkham Asylum. Besides containing some of the most dangerous criminal lunatics in the world, there were also rumors that it was haunted. Tom had never heard the whole story, but the older kids at school said it was, so that was enough to convince Tom. And as he stood in front of the huge, double doors, towering above him, he certainly believed it now. The large windows stared down at him like the eye sockets of a skeleton, empty and dark and vacant. "Just knock," whispered Tom to himself, raising his fist. "They'll just tell you to scram. Piece of cake."

He took a deep breath and struck his fist firmly against the wood. The door vibrated, and he heard the echo of the knock fade away into the distance. Suspense and terror gradually changed to relief. "Nobody's gonna answer," he whispered, a slow smile spreading across his face. "We can get outta here, and nobody can call me chicken…"

His smile dropped as the huge doors were slowly pulled open, and a man stared down at him. A short man, it had to be said, dressed in green and wearing a top hat with a card stuck in the ribbon. He looked at Tom in puzzlement, and Tom, stunned, just said the first thing that popped into his mind: "Uh…trick or treat?"

The small man eyed him curiously, and then shrugged. "All right, come in," he said, holding open the door. "I didn't know we were expecting children – curiouser and curiouser."

"Oh…no thanks," stammered Tom. "I mean, you can just bring the candy out…actually, on second thought, I don't really need any candy at all…I'm good…I'll just be going now…"

"What? You mean you haven't come for the party?" asked the small man, puzzled.

"Party?" repeated Tom. Then the realization struck him. "Oh, I get it! That's what you guys do for Halloween, huh? You dress up like…them? You're the Mad Hatter, right?"

"Indeed I am," said the small man, bowing and removing his hat. "And you are…?"

"Tom Stoker," said Tom.

"Very brave boy to come here on Halloween, of all places," said the Mad Hatter. "Although I assume you had an invitation. How else would you have found out about the party? Are you a relation of one of the inmates?"

"Uh…no. I'm Batman," said Tom, indicating the mask.

"Yes, that's very droll," sighed the Mad Hatter. "Come inside. The others have yet to arrive."

"Who is this?" asked Jonathan Crane, in a mixture of surprise and annoyance, as Jervis Tetch led a small boy in a Batman costume into the Rec Room.

"This is Tom Stoker," said the Mad Hatter nodding at him. "Tom, this is…"

"The Scarecrow," gasped Tom. The man standing in front of him could be no one else.

He was dressed in dark red and browns – perfect autumnal, Halloween colors. He was wearing a hat, and a mask that resembled more a jack o'lantern than a scarecrow – all teeth and eyes – bright, shining eyes, like a candle. A rope noose hung loosely around his neck, and his flaming eyes burned as they studied Tom.

"But who _is _he?" repeated the Scarecrow, turning to face the Mad Hatter again.

"Bother if I know," retorted the Mad Hatter, shrugging. "But he knew the password, so I let him in."

The Scarecrow frowned. "Perhaps it was rather foolish of me to choose 'trick or treat' as the password to enter, tonight of all nights," he muttered. "But I never could have imagined that any child would dare to…"

He trailed off. "Are you frightened, boy?" he asked, turning to Tom again.

Tom studied the strange man in front of him and nodded. "Yeah…you two have done a pretty convincing job with your costumes. I'm impressed."

"What…" began the Scarecrow, but there was another knock on the door at that moment, and the Mad Hatter hurried off to answer it. A moment later, two more strange figures entered the room. One was dressed as Robin, but she was clearly a woman, with blonde hair and pigtails, and her Robin costume had been modified to suit her figure. The other was dressed as Batman, but he didn't have the build to pull it off convincingly – he was tall and thin, with deathly pale skin, bright, red lips, and a huge, mocking smile.

"Johnny, where's your costume?" the man in the Batman suit demanded, frowning.

"I'm wearing it," retorted the Scarecrow, gesturing to himself.

"That's not a costume – that's just how you normally dress," retorted the Batman. "Only you've added a noose."

"Well, I thought, what could possibly be more terrifying for Halloween than the Scarecrow?" asked the Scarecrow. "Except perhaps an un-dead Scarecrow. So I've added the noose for that effect."

"Geez, Johnny, you think you could have made a little extra effort for your party," said the woman dressed up as Robin, hands on hips. "Jervis, you're not dressed up either!"

"I'm wearing a green suit for the occasion," retorted the Mad Hatter.

"And how is that any different to what you usually wear?" asked the Batman.

"I usually wear a blue suit," said the Mad Hatter. "And you may have noticed I had a new hat tailored specially for…"

"Seriously?" interrupted the Batman, ripping off his mask. "Seriously? That's the best you freaks can do?! You're pathetic, both of you!"

And Tom's breath caught in his throat as he recognized with horror the face of the Batman. It was not Batman at all. It was the Joker.

"Harley and I went through all this effort to authentically replicate a Batman and Robin costume, and you can't even be bothered thinking of a different figure to dress up as! That's just pure laziness, and that's the worst quality in a supervillain, aside from lack of fashion sense! If you weren't hosting a party, I'd beat the living crap outta ya!"

"Harley's outfit doesn't look particularly authentic," retorted Tetch.

"I wanted to come as something sexy, but Mr. J insisted that I be Robin," retorted the woman, Harley Quinn. "So I made a few modifications to try and make the outfit sexy. But it turns out it's actually impossible to make this costume look attractive."

"Oh, I…think you're doing rather an admirable job," murmured the Scarecrow, gazing at her. "Although why didn't you go as Batgirl if you wanted something more feminine?"

"Because I'm gonna beat her to death with a crowbar by the end of tonight!" chuckled the Joker, ruffling Harley's hair fondly.

"Aw, Mr. J, you're such a kidder!" sighed Harley, kissing his cheek.

"Wow…that's amazing Joker makeup!" gasped Tom, who was awestruck at how authentic it looked.

The Joker turned to look at him scornfully. "Makeup?" he repeated. "What do you think I am, kid, some kinda transvestite? Who is this kid, anyway? I've been seeing them all night wandering around town in stupid costumes – there were a couple more hanging around outside until they saw us, and then they ran off. Can't say that I blame them – Batman and Robin are a couple freaks you don't wanna run into in a dark alley!" he chuckled.

"Batman's a hero," spoke up Tom. "I dunno why anyone would be scared of him."

"Oh dear," sighed the Mad Hatter, rolling his eyes. "You're one of those."

"Jervis mistakenly let him in, thinking he was a party guest, since he said trick or treat," retorted the Scarecrow. "I admit it's partially my fault for making that the password, but he could have just used his own judgement and common sense."

"My dear Jonathan, common sense is one attribute I do not possess," retorted the Mad Hatter. "Because who is to say that nonsense is not common sense? A child being invited to the Arkham Halloween Party is nonsensical, but that does not mean it is impossible. I thought he might be a relation of someone here."

The Joker shrugged. "Well, sorry, kid, but I don't think we can let you live after what you've seen." He reached for his gun, and then began patting down his costume. "Oh, that's right, Bats don't use guns," he muttered. "He really needs to get over that. It would make his job so much easier if he just started killing people."

"I don't know that we have to kill him," said the Scarecrow, quietly. "What _has _he seen, after all? That we're having a party – there's no harm in that. We could just send him on his way…"

"He's seen that the inmates are hosting a party at Arkham Asylum," interrupted the Joker. "He's seen that the guards and the doctors are nowhere to be found, and the inmates have full run of the place. Speaking of which, where _are_ the guards and the doctors?"

"Oh, I released fear toxin into the ventilation system – not enough to kill everyone, but enough to make them panic and flee the building," replied the Scarecrow. "It will have a twenty-four hour effect, so they'll probably return to work tomorrow, but it's ours for tonight. I trust we'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, definitely," said the Joker. "No offense, Johnny, but I sincerely doubt you can host a party that lasts until the next day. I sincerely doubt you can host a party that lasts an hour, I'll be honest, but I was excited about wearing my Batman costume. Still, if I had been in charge of the party, I'd have kept a couple of the employees around for decoration. Y'know, human jack o'lanterns with candles in their mouths, blood-stained walls with entrail writing and smiley faces – nothing else quite says party!"

"Wait…you guys are…are…you're the _real _supercriminals?" stammered Tom, the slow, horrific realization hitting him like a punch in the stomach. "I thought you were the employees just dressed in costumes…"

"You thought the employees of Arkham Asylum could afford a costume this authentic?" demanded the Scarecrow, rather insulted. "On their salary?"

"More to the point, you don't think they've had enough of us the rest of the year not to want to be us at Halloween?" chuckled the Joker.

Tom didn't know how to respond – he was too scared to even speak. Especially when the Joker pushed over the table and broke off a leg, patting it into his hand as he approached him. "Well, since I don't got a gun, guess I gotta do this the old fashioned way," he said. "I guess Bats is right – there is something almost transcendental about beating someone to death. It's kinda a personal bonding moment between you and the guy whose bones you're crushing…"

"Joker, it would be terribly rude to invite the child to the party and then kill him. That's appalling manners," sighed the Mad Hatter.

"He wasn't invited – he's a party crasher!" exclaimed the Joker.

"Aw, c'mon, Mr. J, ya gotta admire his guts," said Harley.

"I will, pooh, when I got them spread all over the floor," said the Joker, nodding.

"I mean he's got gumption, coming here on Halloween," said Harley. "It was pretty idiotic, of course, but ya gotta respect bravery. Let's not kill him. I like kids."

"So does Hatty, or so I hear!" chuckled the Joker. "Guess it's little girls you're into though, huh, Tetchy?"

"For the last time, I'm not a pedophile…" began the Mad Hatter, but a knock on the door interrupted what he was saying. He went off to answer it, and returned a moment later followed by a woman with green skin dressed in a witch's outfit, and a man dressed in half a black suit, and half a dark green suit. One side of his face was ugly and mangled, and he wore half a top hat, and half a cape.

"What have you come as, Harvey?" asked the Scarecrow of the man.

"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," said the man, who could only be Two-Face.

"Splendid!" exclaimed the Mad Hatter, clapping his hands. "Another literary character!"

"And Pammie, you're a witch again," said the Joker, nodding at her. "Still stuck in the last story, I see."

"What?" asked the woman, Poison Ivy, frowning. "What story?"

"Never mind," sighed the Joker. "I forget I'm the only one who knows the truth."

"Ya look great, Red!" exclaimed Harley, hugging her. "Maybe we can do a duet from _Wicked _later, huh?"

"Who's the kid?" asked Two-Face, noticing Tom.

"An uninvited guest. We're just figuring out what to do with him," said the Scarecrow.

"Why can't he stay for the party?" asked Harley. "It's not like he's gonna hurt anything, is he?"

"Because, pooh, if we leave him alive, he'll tell people what he saw…" explained the Joker.

"I won't!" objected Tom, desperately. "Honest, I won't!"

"Yeah? So explain the costume, kid," retorted the Joker, hands on hips. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Batman," replied Tom, quietly.

The Joker snorted. "You wish. And so do I, for that matter. But you're clearly a Bat fan, which means that once you get outta here, you'll go straight to your favorite hero and tattle on us. And FYI, Batman ain't eight. You should stick to dressing like Robin in the future."

"Well…you don't look much like Batman either," said Tom, slowly.

"Shut up!" snapped the Joker.

"You're dressed like him, but that don't mean you're on his side," continued Tom. "So how come it means that when I dress like him?"

"Kid's gotta point," said Two-Face, nodding.

"I mean, I read about you guys fighting Batman all the time," said Tom. "I know you're bad and all, but I've always been impressed that no matter how badly Batman beats you up, you always come back for more. My Mom says that if you got a dream, you gotta hang onto it and not let anyone stop you from reaching it. I guess that's true even if your dreams are evil, huh?"

"Aw, he's so clever, Mr. J!" exclaimed Harley, clapping her hands. "Let's let him stay for the party! Please? Please, please, please?"

"I am the host here!" snapped the Scarecrow. "And I suggest we have a little test for the child. If he manages to stay here for the whole party, and not flee in terror like the guards and the doctors, then he may remain alive. If he runs, we kill him."

"Why would the kid flee in terror?" asked the Joker, puzzled.

"Because of the nature of this particular party," murmured the Scarecrow. "Once all the guests have arrived, we will head up to the old attic at the top of the house, and I will read a story – a manuscript written in Amadeus Arkham's own hand. The nature of this particular story is so horrific that I imagine most of you will not be able to last to the end…"

"Read a story?" interrupted the Joker, frowning. "That's not a party!"

"I'm intending a more traditional Halloween celebration, where we reflect on our own mortality instead of stuffing our faces with sweets…"

"What, no candy?!" cried the Joker. "This is the worst party ever! You can't have Halloween without candy – it's un-American! Hell with this, Johnny, I'm outta here to go mug some trick-or-treaters!" he said, striding off.

"But Mr. J, who am I gonna cling onto if the story gets scary?" protested Harley, racing after him and catching his arm. "I need my big, strong puddin' to protect me from the ghosts and ghoulies!"

"Well, in that case, it's a good thing I'm leaving," said the Joker.

"But puddin', doncha wanna hang around in case we get to kill the kid?" pressed Harley. "It'll be so much fun – you don't wanna miss out on that, do ya?"

The Joker sighed heavily. "Well, what's Halloween without a little mutilation?" he said, turning back to smile at Tom. "I guess I'll stay…for now."

"Who else are we expecting?" asked Poison Ivy, looking around.

"Edward Nygma. I'm not sure what's keeping him," said the Scarecrow, checking his watch. "He's usually quite punctual…"

The Joker giggled. "Eddie might have had a little trick or treat from Batman and Robin," he said, indicating himself and Harley.

"Oh yes? What kind of trick or treat?" asked the Scarecrow, puzzled.

"Well, the treat was that he'll get to see the real Batman tonight," said Joker, beaming. "Thanks to the trick, which was hiding a bomb in a building and then tying Eddie up at the crime scene while the clock ticked down. Should keep Bats preoccupied for a while. I mean, the last thing we want is him dropping by and spoiling our fun, right? We've already had enough party crashers," he added, glaring at Tom.

"Is…Edward going to be all right?" asked the Mad Hatter, slowly.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure Bats'll get to him in plenty of time," said the Joker, waving his hand. "You know what the guy's like – got an excellent sense of timing. Or a terrible sense of timing, depending on your perspective. And even if he doesn't get to him in time, it's no loss."

"Well then, I suppose we should all adjourn to the attic," said the Scarecrow. "After you, Master Stoker. Are you any relation to Bram Stoker?" he asked as they walked.

"Uh…who?" asked Tom.

"Bram Stoker. Author of _Dracula_."

"Can't say I've read it," replied Tom.

The Scarecrow snorted. "When I was your age, I'd read it about six times," he muttered. "What do you read?"

"Comic books, mostly," said Tom.

The Scarecrow snorted again. "Comic books," he muttered, contemptuously. "Picture books for idiots with no imagination."

"Hey, don't knock comics, Craney – we owe our very existence to them," chuckled the Joker.

"What are you talking about?" asked the Scarecrow.

"I'm talking about thinking outside the Matrix, Johnny," said the Joker. "The DC Matrix, that is. It's kinda like the real Matrix, only without Keanu Reeves, which is always a good thing."

The Scarecrow just looked at the Joker as if he were crazy and continued on. Tom didn't need that last sentence to confirm that everyone here _was _crazy, and that he needed to get outta here quick. But if he did, he'd be killed. But maybe that was better than what was in store for him if he stayed.

As they climbed the stairs into the wing of Arkham that was used only for storage, the cobwebs and dust got heavier and thicker. The Victorian architecture of the building had mostly been fitted with modern technology and conveniences, like electricity, but the lightbulbs seemed to have burned out here, and nobody had bothered to fix them. Fortunately the Scarecrow had a candle as he led them up the narrow stairs to the trapdoor in the ceiling, which led to the attic.

The candle cast weird, flickering shadows on the walls, making the vast, hulking piles of junk seem like huge, quivering monsters, waiting to strike. There was a fireplace along one wall, and while everyone climbed into the room, the Scarecrow went over to light it. This only made more weird shadows dance and jump across the walls and the ceiling, and Tom saw Harley Quinn already begin to creep closer to the Joker.

"This is the room where it happened," murmured the Scarecrow, going over to an old chest and fiddling with the lock.

"Where what happened?" whispered Harley.

"The murders," said the Scarecrow, calmly, bending down to remove a handwritten manuscript from the chest. "Come, Harley, you must know the story of Amadeus Arkham."

"I've heard…uh…bits and pieces," said Harley, slowly. "But I don't do well with all the creepy, supernatural stuff…it gives me the heebie jeebies. You might find me curling up against you if the story gets too scary, Johnny."

"Oh, well, of course in that case, I wouldn't dream of frightening you," said the Scarecrow. "But it's not entirely up to me, you see, Harley. It's up to him."

"Him?" she repeated.

"Amadeus," he said, holding up the papers. "These are his notes in his own hand. It's rumored that his ghost still haunts this asylum, along with the ghosts of his family, horribly and brutally murdered on this very spot."

"Criminey, I'm getting spooked already," muttered Harley, cuddling closer to the Joker. "You ok, Tom?"

Tom nodded, his throat dry. He was terrified, but he didn't see any other choice. He would have to listen. He settled down in the circle with the Arkham inmates as the Scarecrow stoked the fire and began to read.


	2. Chapter 2

October 2nd,

It's the Bat's fault. Or that's what Mother says. She says she hears its wings beating against the window every night, depriving her of sleep. She says it haunts her dreams, flapping through her skull, clawing at her brain, gnawing on it and taking away pieces of it to go and hide in his dark cave, like a dragon guarding its gold.

Mother always was too fanciful. I have told her time and again that we have had people round to check the loft for bats, and there are none. Nor is there any conceivable place within ten miles where they could be nesting or hiding. She refuses to listen to reason, and insists that the Bat is the reason she cannot get well again. And there is nothing I can say that will convince her otherwise. I must simply try to reassure her, and try to ignore her. Which is easier said than done.

She has a bell which she rings whenever she wants my attention. Which is all the time. I have taken a sabbatical from my medical practice away from my wife and daughter to take care of her at the end of her life, as her physician informs me she will not live for much longer. I know it is difficult think such thoughts about one's own mother, but I hope he is correct. At least her mind will be at peace, and free from these Bat delusions she seems to suffer from. And my mind will be undisturbed by the incessant tintinnabulation of constant ringing.

It is curious how when the mind goes, the soul goes with it. My mother is a stranger to me now – the same loving hand which guided me as a boy and cared for me now looks at me with the eyes of a stranger. I think she knows me, but her awareness of reality is limited at best. Is that all that separates life from death, humanity from inhumanity – the mind? And when we lose our mind, what then? Do we lose our humanity with it? Are those who have lost their minds as incapable and inhuman as animals?

My colleagues seem to think so. The mentally ill are given electroshock treatment, ice water hosings, and confined to straightjackets in dank, dark cells. The aim is not to treat them, since they believe treatment is impossible. The aim instead is to lock them away and forget about them as efficiently as possible. For them not to be an inconvenience to the rest of society.

Perhaps it is because of my mother's situation, but I cannot be so heartless towards the mentally ill. My mother is not a raving lunatic, but her mind is broken. Should I leave the wound to fester and grow worse by ignoring it? Or should I tend it, and try to care for it, with comfort and patience? I think any doctor worth his salt would advise the latter. If we practice the same attitudes toward the mentally ill as the physically ill, perhaps their treatment will be just as effective. Perhaps they may be able to recover from their ailment. Perhaps my mother might.

And yet the more time I spend caring for her, the more I wonder whether there is anything left in her to save. There is nothing but emptiness in her eyes and voice. The only thing that seems to wake her from her dream of delirium is this Bat. Otherwise she is like a shadow in physical form – still, silent, lifeless.

I cannot say where this Bat delusion comes from or why she would hallucinate such a creature. To my knowledge she has never had a particular fear of bats, or anything associated with them. Of course they are not the most beautiful of animals, but just because a thing is ugly on the outside does not make it so on the inside, and vice versa. Bats are quite harmless to humans. I do believe vampire bats have been known to attack livestock, but I cannot recall hearing of any attacks on people. Perhaps some research is in order. If I give her facts, plain, basic facts which cannot be ignored and debated, perhaps she will listen to reason. Perhaps she will banish this demon from her mind. Perhaps she will go to her grave with her reason restored.

A man can but hope.

…

"So wait, this is like some philosophical debate about the nature of insanity?" demanded the Joker, who had stolen Tom's trick or treating bucket from him and was now stuffing his face with his candy. "Talk about boring! I don't need to debate insanity – I live it!"

"I know it seems difficult for a man of your intellect to appreciate the fact that some people actually think about the things that are going on around them, and analyze their situation in the hopes of personal growth and self-improvement…" began the Scarecrow.

"I don't believe in self-improvement," retorted the Joker. "At least, I don't believe that my self can be improved, which I guess is the same thing."

"Be that as it may, this man is a doctor," retorted the Scarecrow. "Doctors are known for using their brains…"

"Mr. J!" shrieked Harley suddenly, clutching him tightly. "I thought I saw a spider!"

"_Some _doctors are," muttered Ivy under her breath.

"There are probably a lotta spiders in this attic, pooh," said the Joker comfortingly, patting her arm. "Probably a lotta rats too. But look on the bright side – at least the asylum's not suffering from a Bat infestation at the moment!" he chuckled.

"Kinda weird that Arkham's mother saw visions of a bat, huh?" asked Two-Face, quietly. "I mean, considering in the future there's a guy who dresses up as a Bat who can't leave us all alone and keeps dragging us back to this very building…"

"It is almost prophetic," agreed the Mad Hatter, nodding. "As if she could foresee that the Bat would be the cause of everybody's madness a few years down the line. Or certainly the reason for their imprisonment here anyway."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Hatty," snapped the Joker. "The Bat didn't cause any of you guys to go nuts. Some kid's responsible for your madness. I'm the only one the Bat has really driven crazy. And I don't believe in prophecies. It's not like when I was kid I fell down into a batcave so now I got a terrible fear of bats, and my nemesis just happens to be a guy who taps into my fear. Or was it _his _fear of bats that he was tapping into? I forget - haven't seen the movie in ages. Anyway, there's no prophetic reason why Bats became Bats or I became the Joker. Stuff just happens, and it's crazy to try to make up some stupid reason for why. There is no reason. The world's a crazy place, and crazy stuff happens in it. Because it's crazy."

"But you must admit, it is rather coincidental…" began the Mad Hatter.

"Here's coincidental," interrupted the Joker. "I seduce a shrink whose name just happens to rework nicely into a clown-related alias, and she then becomes my sidekick." He frowned. "Come to think of it, that is kinda convenient."

"It's true love, puddin'," sighed Harley, nuzzling against him. "Destiny."

"Kid, there's no such thing as destiny," retorted the Joker, firmly. "Stuff just happens. That's it. Notice how I use the word 'stuff' instead of a stronger, four-letter word. And people say I'm not considerate of children," he said, nodding at Tom.

"You holding up ok, Tom?" asked Harley.

He nodded. "It's not…that scary so far," he murmured.

"I believe in literary terms this is called the exposition," replied the Mad Hatter. "Setting up the scenario and circumstances in order to make the reader familiar with the universe and the situation. Most stories have that, except for the Alice books. Which is why they are superior to all other stories."

"Also why they're considered nonsense," murmured the Scarecrow under his breath. "May I continue?"

"Yeah, make with the scare, Johnny," said the Joker.

"Oh, I will," murmured the Scarecrow, and he began reading again.


	3. Chapter 3

October 8th,

"It's there."

Mother spoke those words while I was feeding her her broth tonight. She held up one frail, bony hand, and her eyes were wild with fear. "It's there," she repeated, pointing out the window.

I turned and saw nothing but the shadows and the moonlight. "It's gone," she whispered. "But it will return."

I was silent, trying to think of how best to broach the subject with her. "Do you know, Mother, that there has never been a reported bat attack on a human being?" I said. "Bats are not carnivorous, after all…"

"This one is," she whispered. "He drinks my life. He drains my senses. He is driving me mad."

"An animal cannot…"

"A demon," she interrupted. "A demon can."

I was silent again. "Mother, you always taught me that God will protect us from evil," I said, trying a different tact. "And you wear his symbol always about your neck…"

"Oh, Amadeus, you are foolish sometimes," she whispered, looking down at her hands. "To think that evil comes from outside. It is inside. In all of us. That is what madness is – releasing that evil. That is what the Bat is trying to make me do. He claws and gnaws at my defenses, and in time, he will break them. He will break me."

"Why do you think that, Mother?" I whispered. "I wish only to understand, to help you…"

"Amadeus, the only way to understand madness is to succumb to it," she whispered. She took my hand in her weak one. "And we must both be strong, and not do that," she whispered. "We must both of us fight the Bat."

"Mother, there is no bat," I insisted. "He is a delusion, a hallucination, a figment of your imagination. He is not real."

She just looked back at me. "You will see him too soon," she whispered. "And then your reality will be as uncertain as mine."

I saw that talking to her was useless, and stood up. "Try to rest now, Mother," I whispered, kissing her forehead. "I can give you a tonic to help you sleep…"

"No, Amadeus, I must be able to wake up," she interrupted. "Or the Bat will destroy me."

I left her alone, taking the empty bowl out of her room and heading down the stairs towards the kitchen. As I passed the long windows along the corridor, I thought I saw a shadow flitting across the moon, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to gaze out of them but saw nothing. My imagination. Mother has got me spooked with talk of bats.

October 15th,

I have seen it. That is, I have seen a bat outside the window. It was the strangest thing, and there is nothing I can think of to explain it.

I had been doing some research a few days previous. I had thought that perhaps Mother might be aware of the legends about vampires (her description of this creature draining her life force drew an association in me about the stories I have heard of these supernatural creatures.) But such material is heavy and dark and depressing, and so I decided to make a short visit to Metropolis to visit my wife and daughter. I left Mother in the care of the physician for three days, and had a pleasant, relaxing time with my loving family. I was not thinking of bats or vampires or Mother's illness on my return to Mother's home – I was in a merry mood, and ready to greet my mother with cheerful optimism. I arrived late in the evening, climbed the steps to her attic room, and then stood stock still, frozen in shock and horror.

The long corridor in front of me ended in a set of French windows opening onto the balcony. And beating its black wings against that window was a creature such as I had never seen before.

It was made of black smoke and shadows, and flitted away the moment I saw it. But never could I forget the burning malice in its deep, red eyes, the hatred, the…evil. Evil as you sometimes see in the eyes of hardened criminals, or the criminally insane.

It was my imagination, obviously, but I cannot understand why my mind would play tricks on me like that. Perhaps there is some subliminal association with the house and the Bat, since it is where my mother claims to have seen it. Perhaps I was overtired from my journey. Perhaps I have been studying too hard.

I did not tell Mother, naturally, and she did not say anything when I went in to see her and ask her questions. She just stared out with the window with a hint of desperation in her otherwise lifeless eyes. I wish I could do something to help her.

October 17th,

"You've seen it too, haven't you?" Mother asked me suddenly.

I stared at her in surprise. I had not given her any conscious indication of this, and I had certainly never intended to speak to her about it.

"Seen…"

"The Bat," she retorted. "You must be careful, Amadeus. If you are not careful, he will consume your mind too."

I decided to lie – it would only upset her hearing the truth. "I have seen nothing, Mother…"

"You've seen it," she repeated, firmly, with an authority only the insane have. "I see its shadow in your eyes now. Once you let it in your mind, it will never leave. It cannot get out – it gets trapped in there, so it starts to tear and claw and destroy. And it will release all that is dark inside you. Bats need the dark – they need caves and holes to hide in. So it will consume your mind and body with shadows and darkness. There is no escape from it once it gets it. Do not let it in, Amadeus."

"I have no intention of…" I began, but suddenly I heard a hasty knocking against the glass of the window behind me.

"Don't turn around," Mother whispered hastily, as I was about to do so. "It's there."

I had never heard knocking before. But now I heard it – frantic scratching, like nails on a coffin lid from someone buried alive, desperately scratching in the small, choking darkness…

"Go away!" whispered Mother, hoarsely, her eyes staring past me in terror. "Go away! Leave us in peace!"

The scratching grew unbearable. I whirled around to see for myself what was making the noise…and suddenly it stopped. There was nothing outside the window. I turned to look at Mother, who was breathing heavily. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it out," she whispered. "I don't think it will ever go away. But you have to fight it, Amadeus. Even when my strength fails me, you must continue to fight it. It will never let you rest, but if it wins…we are all lost."

My mind is clearly overworked – I just need to rest. Perhaps it is the atmosphere in this house, playing on my imagination, for truly as I write this, I feel eyes upon me, as if something is watching me. But there is nothing in the room. Nothing but the darkness and the shadows.


	4. Chapter 4

"So the Bat's like a metaphor for madness?" asked the Joker. "I don't like stories with metaphors."

"At least you know what one is," muttered the Mad Hatter.

"It's just a device to try to make you think too hard about a story," continued the Joker. "Stupid writers trying to be smart and filling their stories with hidden meanings you have to look around for, and making their readers do all the work. Looking at you, Greenleaf!" he shouted at no one in particular. "I don't do that with jokes," he continued. "My jokes are all about simple enjoyment – you see 'em, laugh, end of joke. It'd ruin it all if you had to explain it, or hunt around for a deeper meaning. My jokes spread joy and laughter, not headaches."

"I think there's a deliberate ambiguity as to whether the Bat is some sort of real demon, or whether it represents the gradual descent into madness," said the Scarecrow. "Or perhaps both. It's not as if Amadeus knew himself when he was writing this."

"Well, it could only be a real demon if you believe in that hocus pocus crap," said the Joker, waving his hand. "And only children do that. Children or stupid people. Hey, just get offa me, kid, will ya?" he snapped, for Harley had tightened her embrace around the Joker's neck so that she was suffocating him. "What's the matter with you two?" he asked, pushing Harley off him and glancing at Tom, both of whom were shivering in fear.

"I have dreams about a Bat demon too," whispered Harley. "They're horrible. There's a gigantic black figure chasing me, his eyes blazing like fire, I try to run, but there's no escape! He grabs me, and…"

She broke down sobbing into her hands. The Mad Hatter reached into his pocket and gently handed her a handkerchief, which she took, nodding gratefully and still sobbing hysterically.

"Christ, Harley, get ahold of yourself, will ya?" snapped the Joker. "This story ain't scary. Even if it is based on true events. The guy's nuts, and he comes from a family of nutcases. That ain't so unusual, and that ain't so scary. Nothing scary about a lunatic. I'm sure nobody thinks I'm scary," he added.

He stood up in a flurry of empty candy wrappers. "Well, I'm just gonna pop out to beat some kids and steal their candy. Back in a bit!"

"Wait, Mr. J, you can't go!" shrieked Harley, racing after him. "This is clearly only gonna get scarier! What if I…what if Tom tries to run away and we get to kill him?! Doncha wanna be here for that?!"

"I'll only be five minutes, pumpkin," said the Joker. "Johnny can put the story on hold if you wanna wait to be scared until I get back, can't ya, Johnny?"

"If you insist, but do hurry up about it," growled the Scarecrow.

"I'll be back quicker than you can say Batman!" chuckled the Joker, heading for the stairs. He shut the trapdoor with a bang, and silence descended on the group.

"So…anybody got any Halloween-themed schemes in store for the holidays?" asked Poison Ivy. "I've got an exploding pumpkin trap for the Bat for later tonight."

"I prefer my big holiday scheme to be Christmas-related, generally," said the Mad Hatter. "A far more cheerful time for mayhem, to my mind."

"The coin decided my big plot would be for New Years," said Two-Face. "Haven't worked out all the details yet, but there's gonna be bombs."

"Well, I'm sure we'll all look forward to it," said the Scarecrow, nodding. "I too have a far more complicated and frightening scheme for the Bat to enjoy this Halloween after the party…"

"Listen," hissed Tom, suddenly. Everyone silenced as they heard a strange, female voice, soft and light and airy, humming a sad song, like a hymn or a lullaby, from somewhere in the house.

"You sure this place is empty?" whispered Harley, her face ghastly pale.

"Yes, positive," said the Scarecrow, puzzled.

"Then who's singing?" she whispered.

The singing continued, but was now accompanied by odd, disembodied footsteps from directly below them.

"I'm not sitting here being frightened by this," said Ivy firmly, at last. "I'm going to go see what it is."

"Don't go on your own, Red!" shrieked Harley.

"I suggest we all go," said the Scarecrow, standing up.

The inmates and Tom huddled together as they made their way down the stairs in a group. Harley was pressed tightly against Tom and the Scarecrow, the latter looking not at all displeased by the situation. The singing and footsteps grew louder and louder, and they appeared to be coming from a door at the end of the hall.

"Who's gonna open it?" whispered Harley as they all stood in front of it.

Two-Face flipped his coin. "I will," he muttered, as it landed on its good side. He turned the handle and pushed open the door, and instantly both the singing and the footsteps stopped. The inmates looked upon a dark, empty room, shrouded in dust.

"There's nobody in here," gasped Harley, who looked about to faint.

And then suddenly, a figure popped out at them from behind a sofa. A figure dressed all in black with a huge, black cape. Everyone jumped, and Harley screamed, but their terror suddenly turned to relief and annoyance when they recognized a familiar laugh coming from the figure as he pulled off his Batman mask.

"You should have seen the look on your faces…" he began, but Harley punched him suddenly.

"What kinda horrible thing is that to do, Mr. J?!" she shrieked. "Trying to scare us all outta our pants! You sick, twisted creep!"

"Geez, can't you idiots take a joke?" muttered the Joker, rubbing his cheek.

"How did you do the singing?" asked the Scarecrow, puzzled.

"Singing?" repeated the Joker. "What singing?"

"You didn't hear it?" he asked. "There was the sound of a woman singing coming from this room."

The Joker shrugged. "I didn't hear anything," he retorted. "Guess you're going crazy, Johnny."

"We all heard it," whispered Two-Face.

And there was a universal shiver from the group. "Let's go back upstairs," whispered the Scarecrow. "I'll continue the story with no further interruptions."

"You hope," said Ivy, glancing behind her to make sure no one was following them back up to the attic. But there was no one there.


	5. Chapter 5

October 22nd,

There is something about this house. I daresay spiritualists would attribute its atmosphere to the presence of some sort of evil spirit, but I am neither as unscientific nor as irrational as they are.

Still, I cannot deny that certain locations pervade an atmosphere, and the atmosphere here is an unhealthy one, not conducive to the mental recovery of anyone. Perhaps the best way to care for Mother at the end of her life is to remove her from here. To take her to my home in Metropolis, where she can stay with my family. To be surrounded by warmth and love, not night and demons. That is how a mind is healed.

And I am not above admitting that it would ease my own mind to leave this place. As the days and nights pass, I find myself more and more agitated, but I cannot precisely pinpoint the source of this agitation. I just feel…watched. And on edge, as if I am waiting for something to happen, something bad. But there is no reason for me to feel like this. True, I am waiting for my mother to die, and that is certainly reason enough to feel upset and agitated, but this feels like something else. Something outside of both of us. Or perhaps more disturbingly, something inside both of us.

I have not seen the Bat again since that night. But I have heard it. I have heard its wings beating against the windowpane, its claws scratching against the glass. I have heard the squeak of its voice in my head when I lie awake at night, high and shrieking, almost like laughter.

And so tonight when I brought Mother her dinner, I said, as calmly as I could, "Mother, I think we should leave this house. The atmosphere here is not healthy for an invalid…"

But before I could say more than that, Mother looked at me and gave a grim smile. "I think it's too late for that, isn't it, Amadeus?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean, it wouldn't do any good," she murmured. "It's got us trapped. And even if it didn't, we couldn't escape it by leaving. It won't let us leave. It will always bring us back, no matter what happens. Always. There is no escape. Not from the Bat."

She glanced out the window again. "I don't have much time left before it takes me," she murmured. "And then God only knows what will happen to my soul."

"Your soul will go to heaven when you die, Mother," I murmured. "And so will mine. And we will see each other again there, along with Father…"

"How nice that would be," she sighed. "But no, it will not happen. My soul will not go to heaven."

"It will not go to hell," I retorted, firmly.

"No," she agreed. "It will not go there either."

She looked around the room. "I believe it will stay here," she murmured. "Trapped by the Bat, unable to leave. I believe it will become a part of this house, and these walls, imprisoned within it. Never leaving. Never moving on. Just trapped forever here."

"Why do you think that, Mother?" I whispered.

She sighed. "If a person is good, that person goes to heaven. If a person is bad, that person goes to hell. But what happens if a person is mad? A madman is neither good nor bad, because a person must make a choice for them to be good or bad. If a person is mad, their mind is not their own. They are not in control of their own choices, and they cannot tell if the decisions they make are good or bad. Would God punish someone for losing their mind? I think a merciful Lord would not. But equally if a madman does bad things, he cannot repent them, so he cannot be admitted into heaven. So where do the mad go after they die?"

I had no answer. "They go nowhere," she murmured. "They are trapped forever in nothingness, in someplace in between heaven and hell. Someplace with all the other mad people who ever lived and died. I am mad, so I must stay in the place I die, with all the other lunatics."

"Mother, your judgment is clouded by your illness," I said, comfortingly. "You are frightening yourself needlessly. No one knows what happens after death."

"No," agreed Mother. "No one knows. Except the dead. And the mad."

She would not speak for the rest of the evening.

October 31st,

There was a storm tonight the like of which I have never seen, nor, I imagine, I will ever see again. It felt like the sky was breaking apart right on top of us, the thunder and lightning battling with each other to decide who would end the world in a blaze of noise or electricity. The limited electricity we have in the house kept flickering in and out, and so I was forced to light candles.

I thought the storm might be disturbing Mother, so I climbed the stairs to her room with a candle in my hand. She sat inside, in the dark, her eyes dull and vacant as usual. She didn't even seem to notice my appearance.

"Mother?" I asked. "You're not frightened by the storm, are you?"

She didn't respond for some time, staring blankly out the window. "The storm?" she repeated at last. "Why would I be frightened of anything so natural as that?"

I didn't know how to respond to that, and was about to leave, when she called me back. "Amadeus, come sit with me," she murmured. "My life will end tonight, and I want company."

"Why do you think your life will end tonight?" I asked, coming over to sit on the bed.

"Because I have not seen the Bat in days," she murmured. "Which can only mean it will return with more strength than ever. It will overpower me. And it will come tonight."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I know," was all she would say.

"Have you seen it again?" she asked after a long silence.

"No," I murmured. "I never saw it, Mother."

"You mustn't lie to me or yourself, Amadeus," she murmured. "But it is a good sign if you have not seen it again. It might yet spare you."

There was a flash of light, almost immediately followed by a rumble of thunder. "Have you considered that it might just have gone away, Mother?" I asked, quietly. "That it will not come back?"

"Does madness ever go away?" she whispered. "Or does it grow stronger and stronger, and spread, like an infection? Like a disease? Like…"

She paused, studying me suddenly. "Your face is hidden in the shadows," she murmured. "Come into the light."

I obeyed, moving the flickering candle closer. "Your eyes," she whispered. "What's the matter with your eyes?"

"My eyes?" I repeated, puzzled. I had not noticed anything different when I dressed this morning, but perhaps she had noticed some spot on them, or shadows under them, or…

But before I could consider more, she abruptly shoved me away, falling back on the pillows with terror in her eyes. "Get away from me!" she shrieked. "Get away!"

"Mother, what…" I began, shocked, but she deliberately fell off the bed and onto the floor, where she began crawling away from me, deathly fear in her eyes.

"Mother…" I began, standing up and approaching her.

"Stay away!" she cried. "Stay away!"

I reached down to help her back into bed, but she actually bit my hand when it reached for her. I cried out in pain as she scrambled across the floor, seizing an antique razor that had belonged to my father and pointing the blade toward me.

"Mother, please, I don't understand…" I began.

"You said you hadn't seen it," she whispered. "No, no, perhaps you haven't. And I know why now. I know why you haven't seen it, and I know why I haven't seen it."

"Mother, what are you talking about?" I asked.

"It's inside you!" she hissed. "I can see it through the window of your eyes! It's flapping around in your mind – it lives there now! And it will make you do terrible things!"

Before I could respond to this, she struck out at me with the razor blade, cutting my leg. "I have to kill it!" she shrieked. "I have to kill you before you kill me, and countless others! Before you kill your wife and child!"

She struck out again, but I was ready for her this time, grabbing her wrist and ripping the razor from her hand. I held the blade in mine, dripping with my own blood and then…and then…

And then I saw a Bat fly out of the darkness and tear its fangs across my mother's throat. She couldn't even scream. I caught her as her body fell to the ground, empty and lifeless. But the Bat was nowhere to be seen.

It was the Bat who did it. The Bat. Not me. I could never cut my own mother's throat, never. The demon came out of the shadows and killed her, just as she knew it would. I am innocent of the crime. Innocent. I swear it.

My poor mother. Her fears were her undoing, and how sad that anyone should fear in this house. My house. I am filled with nothing in it now but a sense of peace and serenity. A fine, old building, really. And now that I own the property, perhaps I can devote it to trying to cure those poor people like my mother, afflicted with delusions and visions of darkness and night. I will make it into an asylum. An asylum for all lunatics to find shelter and safety for as long as they need to. To stay for as long as they need to. As long as they need to.


	6. Chapter 6

"He didn't kill his wife and kid, though, did he?" murmured Two-Face, as Crane stopped reading and there was a mute silence among the inmates. "Mad Dog Hawkins did."

"Yes, he confessed to the crime," murmured Crane. "And carved his name on Amadeus's daughter's body. And Amadeus killed him for it. But I was doing some research into the case after I discovered the manuscript, and among Amadeus's nonsensical ramblings was a passage which intrigued me."

He shuffled through some more papers and read the following: "There is no helping a Mad Dog. You cannot cure it - you can only put it out of its misery. I granted the Mad Dog the mercy of death. It _was _a mercy, a kindness…the poor creature had a bark without a bite. The Mad Dog did not kill my wife and child. The Bat did."

There was silence again. "So if the Bat was…inside Amadeus," began Ivy, slowly. "Does that mean Amadeus murdered his own family, and framed Mad Dog for it?"

"It'd be a good way to do it, writing his name on the body," agreed the Joker. "If someone was gonna frame me for murder, all they would have to do is get their hands on some Joker toxin so the corpses were smiling. No one would believe it wasn't me. Hell, if it was a clever enough crime, I might even take credit for it."

"But why would he frame him?" asked Two-Face, puzzled.

"Maybe because Amadeus couldn't consciously cope with what he'd done," whispered Harley. Her face was ashen, and after several attempts at clinging to the Joker through the course of the story, and several violent rejections, she had eventually come over to cling to Ivy.

"Yes, it's not unusual among patients with split personalities or schizophrenics to not be able to cope with what their other personality has done," said the Scarecrow, nodding. "And so rather than consciously facing what they never consciously thought themselves capable of, the subconscious takes over and represses the memory. In this way, one personality can also do things the other personality has no recollection of, and no realization of doing. Similar to a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde type scenario, if you will," he said, nodding at Two-Face.

"Assuming he was not actually demonically possessed by this Bat at the time," said the Mad Hatter, nodding. "Which we cannot rule out as a possibility."

"Of course we can, Tetchy!" snapped the Joker. "There's no such things as demons, and there's no such things as ghosts!"

At that moment, something suddenly fell off one of the surrounding piles of junk. Everyone looked down to see that it was a toy doll of a little girl. Its head had snapped off in the fall, and it stared up at them with lifeless eyes.

A rocking chair in one corner began to rock back and forth, slowly and methodically, but no one was sitting in it.

And then the fire suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness. Harley screamed, but Ivy silenced her by clapping a hand over her mouth. "Listen!" she hissed.

They heard the singing again, and the sound of slow, heavy footsteps crossing the hall downstairs, and then pausing. And then they heard the steps slowly climbing the stairs and gradually coming closer to the trapdoor. With the footsteps came a light, slowly growing brighter and brighter, like the flame of a candle.

Tom, who had been paralyzed with fear, backed slowly away from the trapdoor toward the window. The moonlight was dim, and did nothing to illuminate the room, but it disappeared as a shadow flitted across the moon. And then a dark shape seized him.

At that instant, the trapdoor banged open to reveal nothing there, just as Tom screamed. The dark shape clapped a hand over his mouth, and light suddenly flooded the room from a flashlight held in the dark shape's other hand. The dark shape, Tom realized with sudden relief, which was the real Batman.

"What are you all doing up here?" he demanded. "Get back to your cells right now!"

"Not on your life, Batsy!" shouted Harley, standing up. "There is no way in hell I'm staying in this house tonight! C'mon, Mr. J!" she cried, rushing toward the stairs.

Batman intercepted her easily. Keeping hold of her was not so easy, as she struggled and screamed and kicked against him. "I won't stay here anymore!" she shrieked. "I won't! I won't! It's haunted!"

"Harley…there's no such thing…as a haunted house!" snapped Batman, avoiding her blows.

"You ain't seen what we seen and heard what we heard!" she shouted. "Don't go telling me what there's no such things as! Tell him about the footsteps, Mr. J! And the singing! Look at the doll, for Christ's sake!" she screamed, pointing at the floor.

"I didn't hear anything, Harley," retorted the Joker.

"J, don't lie, of course you did!" snapped Ivy. "We all did!"

Batman studied the frightened faces of the inmates, his eyes resting finally on the Scarecrow. Then he pulled out a pair of Batcuffs, clapping one on Harley and one on Joker.

"I'm sure the Joker will protect you from whatever monsters you think are in here," said Batman, dryly. "They're gonna be more afraid of him than you are of them."

"Pretty mean trick, Bats," growled the Joker. "You know she's gonna be screaming for the rest of the night. No rest for the wicked, I guess!" he chuckled. "At least tell me there's a treat to go with it. Is Eddie Nygma dead?"

"He's downstairs in his cell," retorted Batman. "As you all will be in the next five minutes. You can go willingly, or I can drag you there. It's your choice."

Nobody moved.

Tom had only ever read about Batman in action – he had never seen him. But watching him subdue, handcuff, and drag the inmates off one by one (except Joker and Harley, who were chained together) almost made the terror he had suffered during the night worth it.

"Crane, you're staying here for the moment," growled Batman, slamming the trapdoor when it was only him, Tom and the Scarecrow left in the attic. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" asked the Scarecrow.

"Don't play dumb with me!" snarled Batman, seizing him by the collar and lifting him off his feet. "Where is the fear gas?"

"Box…by the window," gasped the Scarecrow.

Batman threw him to the ground and stormed over to where he had indicated, pulling a leaking cannister of fear gas out of a box. "Why did you do it?" he demanded, turning to him.

The Scarecrow shrugged. "I wanted to give people a scare on Halloween. A good shiver. There's nothing like the chill of fear, especially this time of year."

"A good shiver," repeated Batman, scornfully. "Do you know the effect that gas could have had on this child?!" he demanded, nodding at Tom. "He could have died of fright! If his two friends hadn't gone to the police, I imagine he would have, before the night was over! I don't consider that a good shiver, Crane!"

"Don't you?" murmured the Scarecrow. "Then I think perhaps you do not understand Halloween. You see, we do not consider death anymore, which is a shame. I imagine it is why you fear it so, Batman – because you do not really think about it. It is the most natural thing in the world. It is the end we all must come to. So why fear it?"

He looked at Tom. "Halloween is about _not _being afraid. Not even of death. Of mocking death itself, so that it loses all power to frighten. To take all the terrors that we suffer from and embrace them, wear them, use them as a shield against fear. Show fear its own face in the looking glass and triumph over it. Halloween is about mastering fear. That is why it is my favorite holiday."

Batman slapped him in handcuffs and dragged him toward the trapdoor, leaving Tom alone in the attic. The slow realization that none of it had been real, that all the terrible things he had seen and heard had been a result of Scarecrow's fear toxin, gradually filled Tom with relief. But he still didn't like being alone in the attic, and was even more relieved when Batman returned.

"C'mon, let me take you home," he said. "Nice costume, by the way."

"Thanks," whispered Tom.

"You ever wanted to ride in the Batmobile?" asked Batman, leading him toward the stairs. "It's your lucky night."

Tom beamed. At least the night had a happy ending. And nobody would ever call him chicken again after this Halloween.

The trapdoor shut behind them, leaving the dark room silent and vacant and still.

And then the chair began to rock, and the soft, sad sounds of a woman's voice singing a lullaby floated gently through the empty air.

**The End**


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